


isabelline

by serayume



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, canon-compliant but not, considering theyre divorced, written for my drarry craving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serayume/pseuds/serayume
Summary: our home never leaves our bones.— to what was once beautiful & to all the things that almost happened, yet never did.





	isabelline

**[** _thought you said that you would always be in love.._ **]**

* * *

 

He believed there was something out there for him. A vague entity that would suffice for a broken soul, at least, he hoped. Perhaps there was a compensation for someone like him, after all, he didn’t have any choice, did he? Everything was forcefully pressed upon him in a tidal wave he didn't foresee that he had no time to fix the cobwebs tangled amidst his mind — on a debate between the light and the dark.

 

But, Draco realized, light and dark did not exist. No good nor bad. Perspective was the key to comprehension and not all was gifted with the openness to see from both sides of the same coin. Maybe no one was ever given this 'gift' of sorts, as everyone picked their own skin to attach to and live as. Shedding skin meant the same as turning allegiances and views; it was better to sew tight one's mouth than speak of what you do not know.

 

He was trembling, both hands clutched on the sink feeling sick to his stomach as he swallowed the bile threatening to come up his throat. It wasn't all hard to ignore the bitter aftertaste it left behind when he saw the reflection of a man he never wanted to be staring back at him with a face full of grief and of sorrow that it almost broke his heart again.

 

That man's you, Draco, have you forgotten?

 

He grasped the edge of the sink tighter and laughed for the heck of it. How did he even ended up like this? He was supposed to be dignified, respectable and ingenious yet despite all of his glamour in upbringing he turned out to be the exact opposite of what was expected of him. Oh, he was quite good at that, wasn't he? Being a failure. He doesn't know what he's thinking anymore. What possessed him to try such a foolish assassination attempt, anyway? And on Dumbledore, too? There was no way he would be able to get rid of that man.

 

He's so sick of this.

 

He needed him.

 

He wanted that person to find him but he didn't want to see the look on his face once their eyes met. He feared what he would think of him once he knew — which Draco was well aware he already did. He can't bear to look at those eyes, oh fuck, those gorgeous bright green gemstones that kept him on his toes. They kept him sane. He kept him sane. He was the reason Draco had what was left of him. He didn't want Harry gone. He.. no.. what would he do if he of all people gave up on him? What if he couldn't do anything to stop him from slipping away — from his touch, from his warmth, from his hold?

 

The thought alone had Draco's lungs contracting with a sudden urge to gasp for air. The pumping organ trapped in his ribcage picked up fast as it started to curb with the realization that one of the few things he treasured might be gone with a flick of a hand or even a blink of an eye. And he would be too slow to stop it.

 

Salazar, no, he was too precious for him to lose. Anything — name it, hell, he'd do anything for that scrawny Potter to come home to his waiting arms. He'd do anything to come home to him. But he was left to question the things that kept him at bay. He was nothing of importance and unworthy of the very few affection he'd received. Nevertheless he would hold on to those, repeat the monologues directed to him and chant them in his head over and over again so he would not lose himself where he stood.

 

Harry's words were the lyrics of the song Draco would always repeat. His voice was the tune he would listen to everytime poison entered his hearing. His smile was the vision that he knew he would see once the final stock of his breathing air left his corrupted lungs. His lips was the sensation he'd unceasingly feel whenever he would close his eyes after crying himself to sleep.

 

He was the thick sweater that kept him warm during winter, the easing feeling one felt when shouting beyond the horizon, the light headedness that was constantly present; the silence outside the boxes of attached windowsills in the mornings.

 

Tell him how could he ever give that up?

 

"Malfoy."

 

It was such a simple soothe that called out to him just right behind him, a beckoning of sorts.

 

But that name brought too much memories upon his intoxicated veins. The chant of venom picked up and returned to infringing his mind with all stripes of thoughts.

 

It was said with such an air of finality that Draco found his throat run dry of words as he felt his heart trip and get ripped out his system.

 

Bloody Potter and the things he could do to him with just a clean call.

 

"Get out and fuck off."

 

The Slytherin inwardly cringed as he stumbled upon his choice of words. Though he meant what he said — he needed him, now, in fact — but he was such a mess. Can't Harry see that? He's too fucked up. Why can't he just let go of the constantly tightening hold on his hands and just.. give him up? He's too tired for this thing now.

 

"No," insisted Harry.

 

Draco teared on his hair for support. Why was he like this all the time? Can't he comply at least one time? Damn Gryffindors and their stubbornness. He definitely did not need to hear all of the things Harry had to say to him now. Not anymore — Draco didn't know if he could take it.

 

"Merlin, Potter! Why can't you just understand?" Draco almost screamed atop his lungs, but his voice was far too raspy for the aim. His cry came out sore, breaking at the end with a desperate call.

 

The Gryffindor stepped forward, and Draco could not find any more space to step back. Into a corner Harry held the Slytherin placid in his arms, hushing his upcoming sobs with the sound Draco longed for so fucking much. He wanted this to last, them at the dark edge with just themselves to comfort and feel — no other people to judge and see. A fool the dubbed albino boy may be, but he was a happy fool — even for a small time.

 

"You're insufferable, scarface. Can't we just stop this shit? We're both suffering here, Salazar, are you blind to your senses? This would never end up good!"

 

"Draco.."

 

It was spoken faintly, like a whisper in the dark, as if it was something for only the Slytherin to hear. Draco's breath hitched and he was sure with their bodies pressed up together, the other would no doubt hear the erratic beating of his heart. His pupils dilated into something he did not quite understand; ecstasy, perhaps? Whatever he felt when this ruddy tale started was always like this — something beyond his point of comprehension. It was as if his mind was cleared of every logic and only them made sense.

 

But fuck, it was so fucking unfair.

 

Just hearing that voice utter his name made him forget the rage inside of him and send his mind into a flurry of emotions he never thought he would feel within this world where he had no choice of who he would be. He was the breakthrough of his existence; the forbidden fruit.

 

"Fuck you, Potter," hissed Draco, "Go to hell. You're not allowed to make me feel like this."

 

Harry chuckled, "I have to live up to my name."

 

"Yeah, like universal git."

 

Harry's laugh echoed across the room, a simper lingering through his face, "I don't hate you, Draco, even when you got yourself a tattoo so suddenly."

 

"Mh-hm." mumbled Draco. He did not know what to say — because of course, saint Potter would know something he kept a secret for so long, he didn't even know if he intended to tell his bespectacled lover, Harry always seemed to know what was going on with him. Always.

 

"I love you."

 

Releasing the tears he was holding, Draco pressed a smile to Harry's chest where he choked out the sobs he'd been harboring, "And I you, Harry."

 

Draco would hold on to this memory for as long as he lives — he swears to his grave, he would.

 

Because this was a moment Draco knew would never last.

 

* * *

 

The war was over.

 

The Boy-Who-Lived has officially vanquished the Dark Lord, freeing the wizarding world of his clutches. Harry was now a hero that was even more worshipped than he was after he rid of the dark wizard that fateful Halloween night. He carried a smile that held concealed faux upon them — and his eyes were pools of deep regret with the flickering fire of an unfulfilled promise.

 

Harry never knew why he tried it in the first place.

 

To get tempted to take a bite of the fruit that was forbidden at that moment and time, maybe even now even when everyone claimed the equality living amongst their moralities.

 

He and Draco were two parallel lines that was never meant to intersect at all costs; maybe clash but never hold on to each other. What Harry knew was that they were both there when the other needed someone to rely on — they found solace in each other. In themselves, they thought they could be reckless, foolish, carefree and lackadaisical teenagers together. In a small time, they picked up what was left of the other, disregarding what everybody would say — of how outrageous their actions were. Where was their dignity? They didn't know the answer to that. After all, they didn't even know where their freedom went. Forced upon roles they didn't fit in; adults and their childplay.

 

You never know which of the outcomes two lonely souls could do to each other once they meet.

 

It was either they fix or destroy one another.

 

In their case, they did both. They healed what they could and in the end, they both destroyed what they mended, leaving their two broken silhouettes in the ruins of their creation.

 

And as they remain to live without the other, they continue to shatter. Each attempted to find love — to a Weasley and a Greengrass — but they found themselves spoiling that too, for their heart was solely one and could not squeeze another to the frame. Happiness and destruction was their pill, a toxic drug they took for what was eating them did not cease the pain.

 

Their respective families kept them on their toes, but they both knew what kept them truly standing was each other's calls. The faint murmurs of their names that flew past the breadth of their lips was the medicine they longed for. It was the thing that they knew would rebuild the ruins.

 

He did not have time for nostalgia, Harry thought, but that was awfully difficult to rid of his mind as he stood at platform nine and three-quarters with his son, Albus, for his second year. His former wife was present as well, but nothing lingered at that particular section anymore. It was a phase they both overcame. The female found refuge in another already and Harry was happy for her — truly. He only wished he could come back to the arms of the person he knew could make him smile like how Ginny beamed upon her new lover.

 

What a farfetched tale, though, and Harry knew it so.

 

The windows of the compartment was somehow translucent in a way, so he took his time seeping inside those small spaces, waving at enthusiastic children with ever-lasting hero worship in their eyes once they laid their eyes upon him — a man of ruins.

 

His youngest son Albus had already ran off without him again, Harry noted, and he looked out for hair as dark and as untamed as his own in the crowd. And, truly, he found his son amidst all the ruckus and handshakes he gave to the people he passed.

 

And for a moment Harry dropped his patriotic smile for the wizarding folk once he found the company his son found. Ever loyal pale blond locks falling through his — no, their — faces.

 

The flickering fire lit up with a new quest inside those emerald irises.

 

At least, a false hope that glinted with fake flames.

 

"Malfoy." _Draco_.

 

"Potter." _Harry_.

 

They were two parallel lines that could now, perhaps, intersect — but both was not willing to take the risk again.

 

And Draco was right; what they had was something that would never last.

 

* * *

 

  **[** _but you’re not in love, no more._ **]**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
